


This is My Note

by Black_Rose_117



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock (TV) RPF, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 14:48:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Rose_117/pseuds/Black_Rose_117
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the pain of losing the one you love is just too much to live by... and sometimes, you drive the ones you love to do crazy things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I am John H. Watson. Ex-army doctor in the Afghanistan War and the only friend to Sherlock Holmes. I was his "live in", his flatmate, his coworker, and his blogger. I was the only one really able to put up with his crazy psychopathic ways and in a way, I ended up bring the one to take care of the lazy bastard. 

I owed it to him to put up with his silly little experiments and the random severed body parts in places where we kept our food, the little we had (the register at the store and I don't really get along. One day I will shoot that thing and just walk away...). He saved me from a life after the war, the life I never wanted to live. The life where I felt old and slow, with a limp in a leg I never hurt and a hollowness that only came from loss of interest in... Well... Everything. Each day, I would regret getting up and getting dressed. Each day I would walk the lonely streets of London alone. Each day, I would have my coffee, read the paper, watch crap telly for a few hours, have dinner, and go to sleep. I didn't have a life, I was just living. 

The day Sherlock came into my life, deducing every bit of information about me from just the things I carried in my pockets, that was the day I suddenly started living an actual life again. He filled my dull days with adventure and color. I slowly started losing weight I had gained from just sitting around, chasing after this psychopath as he ran through the city after a lead. Because of that man, I started feeling young again. Because of that man, my leg stopped hurting, I no longer limped. Because of that man, I learned what having an actual life was about. How to overcome the toughest challenges with my mind. How to piece things together to create the picture everyone seems to miss. 

This man... Sherlock Holmes... Was the reason my life had meaning. Was the reason I didn't regret getting up each day, because I knew the day would have a challenge of some sort for me to overcome. Whether it be hunting down the most dangerous consulting criminal the world has yet to seen, or simply dealing with his boredom, I had a purpose to get up. 

He's dead now. 

Sherlock Holmes is dead! 

As am I... Internally. 

But that is going to change. My life, with him gone, no longer has meaning. My life died when he jumped. 

To those of you who go around saying Sherlock faked all of that. That Jim Moriarty was a fake and that all Sherlock did was a trick, explain to me this:

If he isn't clever enough to solve each case he was on, and he planned every single detail of those cases... How was he cleaver enough to plan the cases in the first place? 

It takes a deep understanding of every little detail to plan something like what he did. To observe what he did. So if he couldn't do that and actually tell you your whole life story simply by the scratches of your cell phone, he couldn't have possibly created all of it. 

Sherlock Holmes was real. He was not a fake. He never lied about himself. He never played tricks.

Sherlock Holmes is real.

And I still believe in him. 

And now that he's gone, I have nothing else to live for. 

This is my note. That's what people do isn't it? Leave a note? 

I will see you soon, Sherlock.  
-JW

\------------------------

John hit the post button on his blog and leaned back in his chair. He pointed a gun at his temple with a steady trained hand.

"I'll be with you soon, Sherlock."

A deep breath. "One..."

Another. "Two..."

A final breath. "Three..."

"JOHN!" 

Bang.


	2. Chapter 2

"JOHN!"

Bang.

Sherlock took two steps into the flat before falling to his knees. John's now-lifeless eyes stared up at the ceiling, looking towards the Gods. Blood streamed down his cheek, pooling on the floor and staining his clothes in the velvet red. 

His friend was dead. His only friend... Gone. Sherlock was once again along in the world.

John's face as he pulled the trigger, surprised and anguished. He had seen Sherlock... He was his last sight before he had gone and killed himself. Before he left to be with Sherlock, in the Hell/heaven he had gone to in John's mind. John was willing to die, just because Sherlock was dead... To be with his friend. 

Sherlock sat there for a long time before slowly crawling over to take John's computer, the note still painting the screen in it's text. He read it through, his mind not excepting what he was reading.

John's life was nothing without him in it, that is why he had killed himself. Sherlock understood. Opening a new post, he begun to type:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am Sherlock Holmes, and I am not dead.

Everything I did, my whole death, was a lie. A trick in order to save John H. Watson. He is now dead. Dying moments after posting his last blog. He had shot himself. He said his life was empty without me in it, saying that is why he killed himself. I feel the same....

My life is nothing without John in it. I will not go back to the loneliness of an empty flat. A flat that only John Watson could fill.

He wasn't just a live in or my blogger to me, he was my best and only friend. I will not breathe another moment without him in my life. He made me a better man, a better person. John Watson made me human. He made me feel emotions, made me learn the way of a normal life. Even though it may have seemed like I didn't care of appreciate it. I did.

My wish was to die with him, it has been for a long time. I will have my final wish.

I believe in John H. Watson.  
-SH

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock pressed the post button and took John in his arms. His life-less form limp in his arms, Sherlock took him over and sat in John's favorite arm chair. Gently, he pried the gun from the cold fingers, setting the safety off and aiming it at his temple. 

John spread across his lap, Sherlock looked into the lifeless eyes one last time.

"I will be with you soon, John."

A deep breath. "One..."

Another. "Two..."

A final breath. "Three..."

Bang.


End file.
